Ill Met by Moonlight
by Thomas M Riddle
Summary: Sequel to "A Pound of Flesh." With Tom Riddle safely in Azkaban, Hermione turns to Occlumency to guard against his influence. But her mind is an even more dangerous battleground on which to fight the Dark Lord. COMPLETE
1. Day 1

_Day 1_

If there's any chance that Riddle wasn't lying, and that I'm connected to him somehow the way that Voldemort was to the diary, or to Harry, I have to assume he might try to use that connection against me, just as Harry was manipulated in our fifth year. I need a plan. I was lucky last time. I can't count on that if he ever finds me again. I can't ever be in his power again. I can't... [illegible].

**Brainstorm defences**

Occlumency

_-books:_ easy to get, possible I don't want people to know I'm depending on them, sneak out of library? persuade _Harry_ he should keep up practice and offer to take notes?

**-**_teacher_: asking at Hogwarts is dangerous - what might they see? same danger for meeting someone at Hogsmeade (not to mention danger of leaving the castle), but without practice, how will I be sure I'm getting better?

Destroy Riddle

**-**_strengthen Voldemort_: if he survives six months... no, can't do this. Impractical _and_ wrong

**-**_delay Harry:_ for six months, try to prevent Harry from making any final moves against V. Ostensibly because cautious, skittish

**-**_reinforce Azkaban_: probably beyond my power, but any changes since Sirius?

_-kill?_ hopefully not possible, given Azkaban

_-Dementor's Kiss_: is there any chance, if his soul is bound to mine, I could be reeled in after?

_-DADA_: including a better idea of what _he_ might try

Early Warning

_-Of Riddle's escape:_ Would Dumbledore hide this from me? Probably. And it _is_ possible to escape from Azkaban. Could he use _my_ happiness as a snorkel? So he could stay sane whenever the Dementors weren't next to him? Do the Dementors move in regular rhythms? I could notice if I felt ill/evil/tired at specific time each day

_-Of possession_: note sleep patterns and dreams. Try to stay in sight of others, unless doing private research, and then make it clear what time I am expected back. Track mood swings, esp anger at friends.

_-Of attack:_ _Don't leave Hogwarts_. Could parents be hostages? Any way to get Dumbledore to protect? Does Chamber of Secrets tunnel emerge anywhere?

I can't really take any measure of my baseline mood/temperament so I can note possible Riddle-induced divergences. I'm obviously in shock today, so I don't know what good it does to notice that I'm frustrated, frightened, and angry. That last could be his feelings bleeding over, but it could also be entirely natural. I _can_ watch for anomalous mood swings, like Harry used to have.

Riddle and I were brought back separately, but I _think_ I could tell when he was woken up under guard. It was right near the end of my time in the Headmaster's office, and I'd been selectively honest. My wand was broken, so there was no question of what _I _cast and it was clear I'd been tortured. I blubbered a lot (that was easy) and made it sound much more like I'd just done what Ginny had, with the arrogant idea of getting useful information out of Riddle. I tried to imply that he must have done whatever was necessary to resurrect himself by possessing me, so I wouldn't know exactly what it was. I could honestly say he had Obliviated me, after all. Dumbledore charmed my arm so the Dark Mark would be invisible to everyone but Moody.

But, at the end of the interview, when Dumbledore looked at me sadly and said "Is there anything else, Miss Granger?" I didn't feel ashamed, I felt _contempt_. It was just like when Riddle used the connection to enable me to cast the Cruciatus curse. I felt myself being _glad_ that Dumbledore is so indulgent about students deceiving him that he assumes he can just imply he knows and they'll believe him. But he certainly hasn't intuited all that was done. The weaker and sorrier I looked, the easier it was to fool him, and I felt _pleased_.

So that's one instance of Riddle's feelings contaminating my own. I mustn't feel bad when this happens. I can't stop it (yet). I just must be careful not to be caught and to build up my defences just as Harry didn't. Starting with Occlumency.


	2. Day 2

_Day 2_

_Fuck_. I should write this down while the memory is still fairly vivid, and before anyone wakes up. I've stalled long enough having a shower and tea and a bit of a walk to come back to myself (possibly literally). I don't know _how_ to tell the difference between PTSD nightmares and an actual connection with (and therefore danger from) Riddle. All right, no more stalling, I'll write down what happened.

[a bit of an ink blot as though the quill waited for a while before moving] In the dream, I was _slow_. Or Riddle was faster. He got to a wand fast enough to blast mine away and tie me up again. But it was _worse_ than just being trapped again or stuck back where I was. He - the Riddle in my dream - _knew_ what I'd done when I was awake. And he said I wasn't awake at all, but that all of yesterday had been an illusion to raise my hopes and then shatter them and that I was still trapped with him forever and that my precautions were no good and he wasn't even impressed anymore-

Stop. I know it wasn't true. I woke up. I'm ok. What did I _learn_?

-I might want to take Dreamless Sleep before bed, at least until I have better Occlumency

-Either Riddle can still know what I know, or it's just my brain, and _of course_ it knows what I know

-I don't have any way to tell if I'm dreaming. I was being tortured, and I kept thinking I couldn't die, and then Riddle said coolly "'Can't die in a dream?' Why, Miss Granger, how would you know? Have you ever _tried_?" Is there any way I could know? (note: my brain has memories of much worse pain than ever before, so I shouldn't take _intensity_ as proof that it's real.)

-It ended when I killed him. Maybe that breaks the connection? Maybe it's PTSD's way of healing itself (see, he's just a person, an _Avada_ will take him down, it's ok)

Actions to take

-Take Dreamless Sleep tonight at least (if Mme Pomfrey gives permission)

-Try to read up on PTSD, get Muggle textbooks

-No way to test if Riddle _is_ picking up information from me, he's in no position to act on it, outside my dreams

Maybe more positive visualization of beating him? If it is PTSD, that did break me out of the terror. Possible to calm anxiety by just doing a bit more research into counter curses and anything more aggressive?

Wait. That curse he used on me was _new_. I don't remember learning it. I think it was called _Scelesti Sanguinium_. That sounds right. He was using it to boil my blood. I should look it up. Could I have heard about it anywhere? Is it something that ever would have been mentioned around me? Or is it new information straight from _him_?

Stop. Don't panic. I may have made it up. I need to verify a Blood-Boiling Curse even exists. I can't test it on an animal. It would be awful and it would be hard to verify it actually did what he said anyway. I might need to sneak into the Restricted Section.


	3. Day 3

_Day 3_

I took Dreamless Sleep and didn't have any new terrors. Unfortunately, I don't know whether that meant it was blocking my own brain's (unhelpful) attempt to process what happened or closing off a connection with Riddle. I don't know enough about the connection to know if he could override it or whether Dreamless Sleep knocks out the part of me he'd be trying to interact with anyway. But, no matter what, it gave me some breathing room.

I should keep asking Madam Pomfrey for the potion for the next few weeks, regardless of whether I'm taking it, so my options are open. It will be harder to do any secret brewing now that everyone is checking up on me.

I haven't observed Riddle affecting my mood in my waking hours, I think. It's hard to tell, because I still feel so shaky and awful. I felt revulsion when Ron tried to cheer me up, but I don't _think_ that was Riddle's influence, I assume it was just exhaustion and strain. I'll mark it as ambiguous.

Occlumency practice is difficult without being able to check whether it's _working_. And it's hard to make my mind calm and empty just a few days after what's happened. And it's frustratingly boring. I really may have to find a partner, to be able to practice this at all. Or lead Ron into suggesting to Harry that some of the DA should practice?

So far, I haven't found any reference to a Blood Boiling Hex in any of our textbooks (or the seventh year DADA textbooks I snuck out of a bag in the Gryffindor common room). It sounded new when I heard it, but it's possible I've heard it somewhere else, or made it up entirely.

I need more time and more information. I'm taking Dreamless Sleep again tonight.


	4. Day 4

_Day 4_

No dreams. But the curse is definitely real. I got a small amount of dog's blood out of the potion stores, and cast _Scelesti Sanguinium_. It heated up quickly, bubbled, and would have boiled over and scalded me if I hadn't Vanished it.

So I borrowed Harry's Cloak and went to the Restricted Section. I told him I just wanted to be alone for a bit, so he lent it to me. He remembers what it was like to have people look at you suspiciously for something you can't help. Luckily, only he and Ron know, among the students.

I found the curse in a book called _A Guide to Applied Kinaesthetics: Sundry Charms and Hexes_, which, upon inspection, turned out to be a false cover for an unpleasant volume titled _Offensive Battle Magic_. Flipping back through the list of signatures, I did find a _T. Riddle_ had signed it out. I declined to add my name to the list, and snuck it out under the cloak for further inspection. It would be useful to know some of the Dark Arts he learned so we can research counterspells for the DA.

Did he realize that showing me that he wasn't just shock or a dream might be useful? After all Voldemort may use some of the same curses, and, if by any chance Riddle is the one who survives the Vow, he won't necessarily know more magic than he did in his seventh year. This could still be a coincidence, but, if it is Riddle, is there any safe way to exploit the connection? It does go both ways, after all.

I could keep taking Dreamless Sleep till I was sure I was a capable Occlumens, but if I guess wrong, he might be able to learn a lot more from me if I slip. The lowest risk time to be in any sort of contact with him at all is _now_, when I can't give up any more information than he already has.

I'll forgo the potion tonight, and see if I face him again. It's still possible (but less likely) that these are nightmares. Once I _know_, I can plan accordingly.


	5. Day 5

_Day 5_

I think he's real. And he's _awful_.

I don't know if it's worth spending any nights without Dreamless Sleep until the six months are up. Last night, I thought it was all right, I was having a nightmare, but it was a tolerable one - I was back in the bathrooms as a first year, cornered by the troll. But then the troll was gone, because _Riddle_ had appeared and killed it.

That was still better, a little, than the first night, since it was _obviously_ a vision or a dream, not like when he made me almost believe that being awake was the hallucination, and I was still trapped with him. So I didn't panic, not even when he casually turned and murdered first year Harry and Ron when they rushed in to save me. He had known they were coming. He directed my dream so that he could kill them in front of me.

But it's pretend. I _won't_ be like Molly Weasley, crying over bodies that are only boggarts. I guess mine wouldn't be a failed test anymore. I don't know _how_ I could make him funny. I'd better think about that, or I might be paralyzed by a creature I could beat as a third year.

Stop. Back to the dream. No flinching. He waved their bodies in my face, but when I stood up to him, he dragged me back to the Room of Requirement. I couldn't... I _can't_...

I tried to kill him, since it had broken me out of the dream last time, but he stopped me easily. And when I tried to be clever or get him to give me any more information (by complaining I could have heard about the Blood-Boiling Curse anywhere, including from the Order of the Phoenix), he did tell me _something_. He said... come on, writing it down doesn't make it worse... he knew where 12 Grimmauld Place was. That absorbing part of me made _him_ a Secret Keeper, too.

So now I know _something _that would prove whether these meetings are dreams or not. If he escaped and turned up _there_. And he might. He said his Horcruxes meant he didn't have to be fully present to the Dementors. When he's not torturing me, he could have his mind anywhere else. So he won't get any weaker. But none of them can talk back. He won't get weaker, but he might get bored.

I need to know what he knows. I need to know if he's trying to escape. But I don't know if I can see him again. He crucio'd me until I woke up, and I can't even tell how long that could go on in a dream.

I'll use Dreamless Sleep for the rest of the month, and keep working on Occlumency, even if I have to do it alone. Then I'll try sleeping again. See if he's willing to do anything else in exchange for a bit of company. And, if not, I only have to drug myself for five more months until he's dead.


	6. Excerpts from Days 6-31

_Excerpts from Days 6-31_

No dreams. If this lasts, I'll have a whole month to recover and research. Aside from the Occlumency, I can look through the book where I found the Blood-Boiling Curse. Maybe spend a few evenings in the Restricted Section looking for anything else he might have checked out -

-Still nothing at night, but I think it's _his_ bile rising in my throat when Ron asks me to play chess. _His_ thoughts saying "How pathetic, he only ever wants to spend time with you when he can feel a little less inadequate. Either Quidditch, where you've bowed out (and he treats that as a flaw) or chess where you're _pretending_ to be incompetent and he's too dumb to notice the deception. He's never comfortable unless you're lying or holding yourself back." I don't like those thoughts, so I'll spend less time in the common room for now, till I can push them back. I don't want to hear what _he_ thinks about Harry-

-most of the curses in _Offensive Battle Magic_ aren't safe to try, but flobberworms have skin enough that I was able to get the hang of _Eviscare_. I can't practice defences for these (no one to tell about the book I've snuck out, and I'd have to be _very_ sure I was correct first try), but I have sped up my reaction on healing charms, opening and closing gashes in the flobberworms in split seconds-

-Still no chance to practice Occlumency with a partner, I've tried using _oppugno_ to have various objects pummel me while I stay tranquil, but I suspect it's no substitute for a practiced Legilimens-

-looking through the registry in the Restricted Section I've found three more books he checked out _openly_. Heaven knows how many more he snuck out, just as I've done these. The closest thing I saw to a reference to a Horcrux was an oblique note in the _Theory of Unforgiveables_ book. Nothing on practice, obviously. And thus no mention of how the bond we share could make me able to cast the _Cruciatus_ when I don't have the usual qualifications-

-Dreamless sleep is still working, no tolerance built up (on my end or his) after two weeks, but it makes me feel _slow_. I have to be able to throw him out of my head. I don't want to be in a fog for half a year waiting him out.-

-if I count the times in the dreams, I've faced Riddle three times. Two shy of Harry's five. And one of his bouts was with my instantiation of him, the rest with the older, decayed one. I wonder if there's anything I could learn from him about what happened in the chamber. Though _his_ Riddle was still incorporeal and weakened, not like mine-

-more books to steal. A dark bestiary that he signed out, possibly useful to tell us what his older self may be recruiting. And an English-Parseltongue/Parseltongue-English dictionary. Something else to study. If I can find a way to hide that I know it, maybe he'll give up information in front of me-

-trying to use my frustration with Ron as Occlumency training. Or Lavender. Or Pavarti. It must be Riddle's influence that they're all so grating and trivial, and becoming blank _does_ help. Unless it's just that I'm actively thinking about something besides their inane conversation. How can I be sure I'll be safe at the end of the month-

-left a magical fire burning for long enough to create an Ashwinder. Before it faded into ash, I was able to have a brief, awkward conversation in my stilted Parseltongue. It seems to be at the level of my much neglected French. But this is an easy way to have a conversation partner, as long as I'm careful about the eggs-

-if Riddle were to fulfil his Vow, what would become of Harry's Prophecy? Would it carry over to Riddle instead? My Voldemort hasn't marked Harry as his equal the way his Voldemort has. Would his streak of sheer blind luck come to an end if he were facing down the Dark Wizard that our present Voldemort seems to be a pale copy of?-

-it's tonight. I left the day freer, so I could be as strong and unstressed as possible, but it's just given me more time to worry. But it's happened twice already and I was _fine_. It was awful, but it was finite. And I'm stronger now, farther away from what he did to me. I _am_.

I'll have to store the Dreamless Sleep not in my bedroom, so I can't give way and take some.


	7. Month 2, Day 1

_Month 2, Day 1_

I _apologized _to him. And he _kissed_ me. Not in that order.

Stop. Start over. At the beginning.

He was there waiting for me. And I was right that he had been alone when I took Dreamless Sleep. Though he wasn't in the mood to parley when I turned up. He-

Is there any point in writing this down? He knew what I had been working on and how I had been strategizing. So either my Occlumency failed me in the dream (small surprise, given what he did to me) or every moment I'm _not_ maintaining an Occlumency shield, he can leech off my thoughts. So these notes are an open book to him, just like I am. Maybe they'll help someone piece together my awful death, if he ever finds me again.

Stop. If this journal does nothing but help me collect my thoughts enough to not be hysterical at breakfast, it's enough. I'll skip the terrible part for now. I'll just write down the result, and worry about the rest later - the result is bad enough.

I was correct that he would want me to stop avoiding him. I was incorrect to think that my absence gave me any bargaining power. I am _permitted_ to sleep tonight, but in two weeks' time, I have to turn up again to keep him company. And I've been tasked with improving my conversational Parseltongue. So it's daily Ashwinders (mind the eggs!) or maybe more. Since he only promised not to _always_ torture me.

But I can't get out of Scheherazade-ing if there's any chance he might be able to do what he threatened, punch through the Dreamless Sleep and [crossed out heavily].

No. I don't have to think about that today. Not till after breakfast. And as much chocolate as I can stomach. And maybe with a Patronus up, I need the practise as much as the protection.


	8. Month 2, Day 2

_Month 2, Day 2_

I took a chance, and didn't take Dreamless Sleep last night. But he left me alone, as he said he would. I have only eleven more nights of my own before he takes me again. _If_ he keeps his word.

No more stalling. When I saw him last, he trapped me in Azkaban. He was furious I'd managed to find a way to avoid him and didn't bother trying anything as subtle as pretending I was still really in the Room of Requirement with him. He just _tugged_ on our connection, and pulled my mind all the way through to where he was. In Azkaban. With the Dementors.

It started as a sudden, painful shock. I was plunged into fear and misery like I'd fallen through the ice on top of a lake. And as I was drowning, I kept twisting and reaching, trying to find my way out, pounding against the barrier that separated me from light and air and hope. But the more time I spent submerged, the weaker and weaker I got, and the harder it was to believe there was something to reach for, let alone muster the strength to lunge for it.

Riddle threw me out of his usual torture chamber and into the clutches of the Dementors, but they dragged me right back again. The ropes, the fire, the cutting charm all played out again, building to the Cruciatus. I tried to hold on to the last thing he had said, "Don't leave me alone again. If you do, I might just decide to take the necessary measure to cut through that Dreamless Sleep of yours, and when I do, I might decide not to let you wake up from what you're about to see."

If he was telling me not to use Dreamless Sleep, it meant I would wake up. It meant he was going to pull me out eventually. I kept repeating this to myself, as my leg burned again, and my shoulder popped out of its socket for the second, third, fourth time. But apparently any prospect of rescue, even if it's by Tom Riddle for new tortures, is a happy enough thought that the Dementors drew it out of me, little by little, until there was nothing left.

His hands on my wrist and throat. His wand branding me with the Dark Mark, searing down to the bone. All the agony of the time I spent with him, but a queasy hopelessness building with each repetition. When I was _actually_ trapped with him, I had information to hide and a reason to resist. But this torture was _pointless_ and there was nothing I could do to make it stop, or just make it deviate a hair from the last repetition, or the time before that.

But, after the first dozen or so loops, the vision did start to change. _He_ started to fade out of it. A wand tracing out _Lacero_, but no hand to guide it. Legilimency overwhelming me, but no eyes to look away from. I was alone with pure pain and damage, no one to plead or argue with. Just unadulterated anguish.

I don't think I was lucid enough at the time to notice, but, when I try to remember (or, more accurately, fail to not remember), it was all the pain of that encounter distilled and crystal-sharp. Except there was one feeling missing. Every moment of humiliation, every blush, every ounce of shame faded out as Tom did. You would have to be less profoundly alone than a mind in Azkaban to be capable of humiliation, because humiliation presupposes a world with other minds, a world with anything outside the unceasing agony.

Until finally he pulled me out. And-

My Patronus winked out at some point during this entry. No more. Chocolate, then Parseltongue practice, then bed.


	9. Month 2, Day 3

_Month 2, Day 3_

Sleep still uninterrupted, until he chooses to have me again. After breaking down a bit yesterday, I decided to try reviewing what happened from the third-person remove of a Pensieve. And I don't feel better.

When Riddle pulled me out of Azkaban, I was insensible to anything. I had no idea how long I spent with the Dementors or how long I had been crying in his arms, clinging to his robes, desperate for anything human and warm before I noticed where I was. Which means I didn't see _how_ he pulled me back. But some part of my brain held on to it, and when I reviewed the memory, I could see him brazenly walking through the Dementors massed around me.

And he was _casual_ when he spoke to them. I've written it down. He said, "Tell the rest of your friends to leave us alone unless you want me to leave you here when I get out." And when they tried to turn on him, he waved them off, saying, "No point, you pathetic pile of cloth. I've only _got_ bad memories, and the worst I've got would poison even you. Get out of my cell. _Now_."

I can't trust that the Dementors will keep him mured up. I can't even trust that exposure will _weaken_ him to the point where Aurors are enough. I wish someone would force Dreamless Sleep down _his_ throat, or better yet, through an IV drip. Keep him out of it till the six months (five months now) have passed and he's killed by the Vow.

But I've let myself drift off of what happened. From the remove of a Pensieve it looked so pathetic. I was hanging off him, frantically begging him not to leave, not to leave me alone there. Even when I came back to myself enough to recognize him, I couldn't let go. I stood outside myself and _watched_ revulsion pass over my face. First at him, but then, as moment by moment I failed to unclench my hands and step away, at myself. And then I buried my face in his chest, so I could ignore _who_ I was leaning on, and I couldn't see what expression I had then.

After supporting my weight for a few minutes, he forced my face up to meet his again, and told me how pleased the Dementors must have been to have access to me, through him. He was poor fare for them, already bitter and only part of a person, but I was a delightful mixture of fear and stifled hope and waxing misery. I nearly shut my eyes, knowing what was coming, as he said "They'd quite enjoy the taste of your soul" and I saw him kiss me roughly.

I had the strength to push myself away, but not the strength to stand on my own, and I fell. When he threatened to return me to the Dementors' care, I started begging. He mocked me for being in the same position every night I wasn't drugged, and for making the same pleas. And then - I don't know what it was, the horror of Azkaban, his _human_ presence however awful - I apologized. I started crying again and told him I was sorry I had sent him to Azkaban, that I hadn't been able to think of any other way to be safe, that I understood that no one should be there, and that I was sorry, sorry, sorry.

Watching it from the outside, I think that was the moment when I almost died. I don't know if he _can_ kill me in my sleep, but for a moment, he _intended_ to. In the dream, I was heedlessly sobbing and apologizing, unaware that some part of him thought I was _pitying_ him. I might have been, I don't know. But even as a remnant of a divided soul, there's _something_ human about him. And _nothing_ human should be in Azkaban. Not for one moment.

After he chose not to hurt me, he told me that I would be returning regularly, to keep him company. And that he still intended to turn me. And that he was _amused_ by my defensive preparations. He said this last in Parseltongue, so then he also had the chance to be _amused _by my novice's grasp of the grammar. And he tasked me with practice as easily as if he were a professor and I a struggling student.

And then he asked to see my Patronus before I woke.

It was the strain of the night, the strain of his presence that made the charm fizzle three times before my Patronus was corporeal. I had to discard the first happy memory I thought of - Ron and Harry coming to rescue me from the troll - because he had ruined it with his nightmare. My other memories of our friendship weren't as practiced or as vivid, so, in that moment of stress, I couldn't sustain the two I tried. Even the memory of walking into Flourish and Blotts and seeing so many books that they had to suspend the law of gravity to fit them all in, even in a magically large room didn't let me produce more than a mist.

Then he looked at me with pity. Or contempt, I couldn't tell the difference. And said, "Perhaps putting you in Azkaban was crueller than I thought, if you lack the capacity to defend against the Dementors at _all_." And I couldn't let him beat me or make me weak.

So I pushed aside the other memories and thought of the moment in the library last year when I was reading through textbooks on magical vows, and in a flash, I could see just _how_ I could tweak the Fidelius to make it a jinx, to keep the DA secret, to be just clever enough to keep everyone safe, so quick that I even gave Riddle pause for a moment when he was torturing me. And my otter Patronus burst out and stood between us, ready to protect me.

But Patronuses only guard against Dementors, not humans. He fired off a quick _Legilimens_ before I could react. And when he saw the thought I had used to power my Patronus, he looked pleased. "Our little secret" he said, resting his finger against my lips. "Enjoy your happy thought." And then he snapped his fingers and let me go.


	10. Month 2, Day 14

_Month 2, Day 14_

I've settled on about three hours of Parseltongue practice a day. It seems more useful than anything else, including keeping up with this journal.

I haven't bothered tracking my anger, fear, or anxiety. How could I possibly unwind what might be Riddle's influence and what is the simple aftermath of that horrible might in Azkaban?

_Something_ of him is bleeding over. I'm picking up Parseltongue faster than French. Well, not the vocabulary. But it's hard to learn the phonemes of a new language, and I've picked up the ear for the hisses faster than I expect I could have started to distinguish the tones of Mandarin. At least in the opinion of a succession of Ashwinders. My grammar is shaky, and my vocabulary is patchy, but I can contort my mouth into fifteen different varieties of sibilants.

I wish I knew _why_ Riddle wants me to practice. Whatever magical assistance he's giving me, I shan't be fluent by tonight. And I expect the penalty for not scoring an Exceeds Expectations at the very least will be much worse than failing the NEWTs. But I don't know what I was expected to cover.

When I studied French, the first few chapters had helpful vocabulary (friend, he, she, today, tomorrow, etc). But, after that, the chapters became specialized (an entire unit on the sports _on peut jouer_ and the equipments _il faut avoir_ to do so - and I've never used a word of it). Which chapters do I need to skip to for Riddle's purposes?

If I left the topics to the Ashwinders, I'd be discussing the _qualia_ of various magical fires, the way we are marked by our makings, and the transience of all things. By controlling the conversation myself, I've at least managed to tighten up my introduction: "Hello, I am bound up in the coils of a fearful predator who wishes me to shape my tongue to your speech." It's a good deal better than the "[imperative mood] learn snake talking needful!" that I reeled off the first time.

What should I be drilling? Eloquent ways to beg for my life? Will I need to know how to answer his original questions about the muggle world in Parseltongue? (The Ashwinders didn't know the words I needed) I certainly neglected the subjunctive mood, but I doubt Riddle is interested in my hopes, wishes, or desires.

It's nearly midnight. I can't stay up any later and maintain plausible deniability. If that's ever possible with the way he can read me. So, to bed, pick up your quills, and let the examination begin.


	11. Month 2, Day 15

_Month 2, Day 15_

I hardly want to take the time to take notes on last night, but I don't want to answer any awkward questions about why I'm sneaking around in the castle before dawn, so I may as well. Riddle chose to conduct my Parseltongue examination in the Chamber of Secrets, as he remembers it. His idea of a proctor is a Basilisk. While I quickly blindfolded myself, he explained I would be allowed four errors, and on the fifth, I would be eaten.

Thank heavens I had reviewed some forms of formal address in Parseltongue (I assumed Riddle would like them), and I was able to greet the Basilisk appropriately as Lady. Our fleeting meeting in my second year did not count as formal introduction. She asked why Riddle had brought me to her (damned if I know), and I managed to offend her by saying I wasn't there by choice. And then, I muffed the apology by saying, essentially, that _was_ I free to choose, I would be honoured to visit. I ought to have said _were_, since it was a counterfactual and required the subjunctive. And I didn't need to be able to see to tell Riddle was smirking.

The blindfold helped me remain calm and self-possessed, and it was possible to carry on a conversation without worrying about the fact that I was in Slytherin's lair or speaking to an enormous snake. She has an extraordinary facility for scent (or, more precisely, for taste, as snakes use their tongues to sample the air and parse it with their vomeronasal organ). She could smell the cold I had several weeks ago. And my spiked adrenaline when Riddle took advantage of my blindness to sneak up on me (though she misattributed it as attraction, as it's the same hormones, and she seemed fond of him).

Imagine what a Basilisk could do in a hospital ward of suitably blindfolded patients. It might be possible to scent out diseases before they're symptomatic and when they're easier to treat. Though a grand creature like her might object to being treated as a simple diagnostic device. It would be more interesting to ask her to assist in the classification of diseases. If a Basilisk couldn't sniff out the difference between, say, fibromyalgia patients and decoys, it would be at least weak evidence that the disease was psychosomatic. Though I suppose even a psychosomatic disease has physical effects, so that might throw her off...

But this is all unfortunately hypothetical. The Basilisk is dead, and lives, as far as I can tell, only in Riddle's memory (Harry never mentioned speaking to her). At the end of my examination, Riddle and I had an awful fight in the Chamber. It just seemed like such an awful _waste_ for her to be dead; she was intelligent and gracious and had borne witness to nearly all of Hogwarts's history. And it was Riddle's fault for staging a confrontation in her home, just for the _ambiance_.

Oh, I hope writing that down won't get me punished again like it did last night. He lashed out horribly at that accusation. I suppose he's correct that he couldn't have guessed that Harry would kill her, especially at twelve, but what a careless way to lose someone so rare. How could _Fawkes_ have been vicious to her? Why didn't he prompt Harry to try to speak? Or just vanish him out? Or attack _Riddle_ instead, who was the only one there with real malice.

I don't want to go down there and see her dead.

But seeing the library that Riddle promised will be worth it. A collection of works, by Salazar Slytherin and others, all written in Parseltongue. I wonder if it's safe or prudent to bring them out of the Chamber? I wouldn't want another treasure of Hogwarts to be lost, but I'm not sure how much time I can steal in the Chamber for reading. Since I shan't meet Tom until next month, I don't _need_ to sleep, I suppose. I can skimp there and make it up with Pepper-Up Potion.

_Finally_, the bells are ringing. Down to breakfast and then to plan a time to sneak off.


	12. Month 2, Day 16

_Month 2, Day 16_

"_Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever"_

That's what Riddle made Ginny write on the walls of Hogwarts, and it was dreadful to see the unintended fulfilment of his promise. After I'd evaded Moaning Myrtle and slipped down the slide, I landed painfully on broken masonry. I picked my way along the tunnels, eyes on the ground to keep my footing, and came upon her body unexpectedly.

It was the first time I'd actually seen her. I was blindfolded last night, and when I was Petrified, I saw only a flash of lamp-like eyes in the mirror before I collapsed. But in the Chamber, her eyes were brutally slashed open, the cornea rent, the vitreous humour long since drained and mixed with the water on the floor.

Before I could go on to the library, I just huddled up at the foot of one of the sculptures and cried. I closed my eyes, to avoid seeing her body, but it did little good. The Chamber was palpably _empty_. Cutting off one sense often amplifies another, and when I was blindfolded, I could _feel_ her presence on my skin. I could feel the majestic way she took up space, her movement through the room, the low resonance of her hisses stirring all bones of my body, not just the ones in my inner ear.

I think I amused her, when I said that Riddle was unusually 'sinuous-of-thought' and that he found me to be a diverting sort of mouse. She sounded approving when she said, "So you are the prey he is playing with in order to get hungry. My hatchling is very wise. He is smaller than me. He will make many meals of you." I didn't need to see her to be attuned to her warmth and pride when she spoke of him. Of course, Riddle took advantage of my concentration to make me jump by laying a possessive hand on my neck and whispering, "I already have."

I _wish_ Harry had spoken to the Basilisk. She only lives now in Riddle's mind, and she's on borrowed time there as well: three and a half more months. And I can't imagine it would be safe to ask him to preserve his memories of her before his death. That thought is a little dangerous to think at all. Just like the way I angered him a little thinking about whether it would be to my tactical advantage to be Petrified again until his death.

I need a safer way to keep my thoughts private. From Riddle, as impossible as that seems, and from anyone at Hogwarts. Harry has been distracted by private meetings with Dumbledore (which he won't discuss with me or Ron), and Ron has been taking up with Lavender Brown. But neither of them is that much of a danger; neither are Legilimens.

I wonder what Dumbledore would see if he tried to read me. It's certainly plausible that I would be having nightmares about Riddle, so as long as he didn't see anything I couldn't have imagined myself-

What would he have understood if he saw last night's dream? He isn't a Parselmouth; barring magical assistance, you need to know the phonemes as a child, that dictionary was mostly for the abstract inquiries of magical linguists. How could I safely check-

Until I know if that will work, I'll be a little judicious in my thoughts. But I'm quite impatient to meet with Riddle again.


	13. Excerpts Month 2 Day 17 - Month 3 Day 14

_Excerpts from Month 2, Day 17 to Month 3, Day 14_

Riddle didn't assign me reading from the library, so I can choose however I would like. Though it's hard to shake the feeling of being watched. Just before I woke up, he touched me lightly on the forehead and said "Whatever you read, _I will know_." If his smile were less genuine, I might feel better, but it just suggests he honestly and wholeheartedly enjoys my disadvantaged position. I suppose there's little to lose by starting with the monograph on Horcruxes by Herpo the Foul-

-reading written Parseltongue is challenging. I don't read Hebrew but I think the nikkud notation of little dots for vowels is analogous. Especially as the ones for Parseltongue aren't always preserved or included here, so if you couldn't think through the possible sounds and what they'd mean you'd be lost-

-chose not to finish the book on Horcruxes, but don't dare destroy it. I didn't read anything on how to disconnect a person from a Horcrux, just how to destroy them. That leaves me at a loss for how to sever the connection between myself and Riddle, but if there's even a possibility he doesn't know how to complete the second half of his Vow, I don't want to have him pluck the necessary research from my mind. The histories might be safer than the spellbooks-

-can't possibly be written in Slytherin's own hand, so perhaps generations of Slytherin Parselmouths copied over these writings by hand or by spellwork. I wonder if I should take up Riddle's part when he's gone-

-several conflicts noted already between these documents and _Hogwarts, A History_, not to mention Binns. More damage done in the witch hunts than claimed in class; a wand doesn't do much good against a mob, since it only takes one blow to be unconscious. Not to mention that there were fewer wizards and fewer people, so being cut off from your community could still be devastating. First exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, no creation of food-

-Harry gone more often in the evenings now. Ron slightly touchy, but sated by embarrassing displays in the common room with Lavender. I'd like to know what Harry is up to, but I'm not sure my brain is a safe space for sensitive information, and besides, I don't want to have him inquiring into where I've been vanishing off to. He did catch me on the way up to bed to stammer for a bit about how I was doing and then say seriously that Riddle had _started_ bad, and it must have been awful-

-Who would have thought that Cruciatus could ever be framed as a humanitarian gesture? Nonetheless, that's the tack Slytherin takes, writing:

_But in what shall our defence consist? Shall we subject our enemyes to most fiendish tortures that shall leave their bodies wracked with pain, or shall we administer but a few seconds of _Cruciatus_, which is sufficient to break all but the strongest without as much lasting harm?_

A few seconds is hardly what is used today. Perhaps he meant to use it on muggles the way muggles use shock collars on dogs - a brief, conditioning spurt of pain. But today we have Muggle-Repelling Charms, and the tool persists past its usefulness. A rack requires effort to construct, time, space, assistance, but the _Cruciatus _just requires bile and raw power. There's no limiting factor, and, but for the Dementors, little hope of the Ministry being the sole legitimate user of force in the wizarding world-

-my parents' return Owl arrived, prompting Ron to snort at breakfast that I couldn't possibly need _more books_. But I'll charm the Parseltongue volumes to match the muggle bindings and mix them together. Appalling to their authors, I'm sure, but considerably less likely to be investigated when they're shelved among maths books-

-spoke to the Patils as arranged, am keeping the envelope they gave me under my mattress until _after_ the next time I speak to Tom-

-More from Slytherin's notes:

_Godric and Helga would have us treat the education of all wizards as our mission, even those born to muggles, which in all but the most rare cases are synonymous with peasants. Yet this dream will not only fail to secure us continued support from wizards with the means to assure our school's continued survival, who will not like to see their heirs educated alongside serfs, but is also an offense against reason and the purpose of this school. For what are our Houses if not deliberate simulations of aristocratic loyalty and patronage? Muggles - that is, peasants - have neither the wit nor the breeding to understand the meaning of such things. And their presence will dilute the prestige of our Houses if permitted to proceed. Moreover, muggles have been shown willing to burn even their own as witches, for no crime at all. What would they do if they suspected a conspiracy to steal their children? _

Reasonable enough for its time, but Riddle didn't grow up in the Dark Ages (arguably the Malfoys did), so what excuse does he have for carrying on as though nobility had _anything_ to do with merit. Would he change his mind if he could see the Gregory Goyles and (let's face it) the Ron Weasleys of our world who treat magic as a handy extension of their will without the slightest sense of 'the meaning of such things?' I wonder whether it was actually a golden age, where noble wizards _understood_ their magic better, or if our comprehension of the whole world was so impoverished that magic was not notably lagging other disciplines-

-I hope he lets me check when I'll see him tonight.


	14. Month 3, Day 15

_Month 3, Day 15_

I wonder what I'd do, with three and a half months to live? Maybe it would be humane to be rereading any books I particularly love, especially as Riddle can dip in and out of my mind at any time, according to him. Last night I asked him if I could show him something, since he has shared the Basilisk with me during our last meeting, and he let me walk him through 1850s London, so I could introduce him to John Snow.

Perhaps I should try to pick up Legilimency. Since I don't know how at present, I can't influence the settings of our dreams directly (perhaps Riddle would disapprove of me learning for this reason). To be able to leave the Slytherin common room where he met me, he had to read anything I was imagining and then project it around us. Apparently this is easier to sustain with physical contact - I think I was just able to suppress the shudder, and, after a little while I forgot about his hand on my shoulder.

We walked through the fetid streets of Soho (and, I'll confess, it looks like my imagination had a heavy debt to Dickens adaptations). I tried to get him to zoom in on the cholera patients, but we ran into a lacuna of Legilimency. He was able to pick up on what I was thinking _conceptually_ about the disease, but when he visualized "the disease makes you lose water faster than your body can cure the infection" he superimposed little flobberworm like creatures crawling all over the urchins, latching on like leeches, and draining people into shrivelled raisin-like things.

I tried to give him more precise images, and he could see my memories of photos of bacteria, or the way I imagined the characteristic rice-water vomit, but he couldn't integrate them through Legilimency alone. Which is interesting for reasons I'd rather not think in detail about. Legilimency was sufficient to communicate the most important part of the history.

We flew up above London, so I could show him John Snow's famous epidemiological map. He saw what Snow saw, that the cholera cases were all tightly clustered around Broad Street. Not what you'd expect if cholera were spread through the air, but consistent with the disease spreading through the water of the Broad Street pump. Once I explained Snow's insight, Riddle pointed out the anomalous far-flung case, and I was able to remember it was a family that had water from the pump brought to them across town.

As I got more excited, explaining how Snow failed to convince his fellow physicians and took action himself, I think Riddle got swept up in my narration a little too. His vision of Snow (squat and jowly, like Slughorn) yielded to my embarrassingly romantic picture (suspiciously trim and a cloak I swear I didn't mean to make swoosh that much) as he wrenched the handle from the pump and ended the epidemic.

The biology didn't carry over, but something of the content must have, because after I had finished the story and exclaimed "...and he stopped the epidemic. Just by _looking_ and being curious and confident the world worked according to rules he could understand. Isn't it _lovely_?" Riddle's eyes were also bright with excitement.

Hogwarts teaches Muggle Studies all _wrong_. The wizarding students aside, the muggleborns start too young to have started making sense of the world unless they were precocious. Instead of teaching the Arthur Weasleys of the world to reverence or just plain coexist with muggle technology, they might try teaching the logical worldview that helped us create them. Instead, the wizards insist on treating the whole world like magic (magic included).

Riddle is clever enough to catch on quickly, but he's unusual. I wonder how much the wizarding world has lost through a lack of curiosity about the world. I'll see if he wants to talk any more about this at the end of the month when we meet again.


	15. Excerpts from Month 3, Days 16-30

_Excerpts from Month 3, Days 16-30_

-opened the sealed envelope from the Patils out of idle curiosity. Turns out they were talking about whether Justin Finch-Fletchly is fanciable when I asked them to have a conversation in Marathi. (Of that and Hindi, it seemed surer that Riddle wouldn't know the former). And that was correct, at least. When he and I didn't understand the language, he couldn't understand the conversation in the memory through Legilimency. I'm not _sure_ if that means that Dumbledore couldn't understand a conversation between me and Riddle in Parseltongue if he saw one, but it's surely not _completely_ secure, as he could show the Pensieved memory to Harry. But for the most part, those may be private. Is there any language I know that Riddle doesn't-

-Harry missing at lunch today, turned up late at night looking very shaken. Told us that Dumbledore had sworn him to secrecy, but wanted to know if we knew anyone with the initial R.A.B. I named Rosalind Antigone Bungs and Rupert 'Axebanger' Brookstanton, but I don't know what he wants them for and I suppose I _mustn't_ wonder-

-finished rereading the Gleick book Mum and Dad sent on. Back to the Slytherin collection next. There _is_ a book on Legilimency, and I couldn't check my other theory, so maybe this will help-

-charmed a barrier around my bed in case Riddle's joke during our last meeting about puppetting me the way he did Ginny wasn't an idle threat. But she was deepening her connection and ours, although awful, is stable, I think-

-more Death Eater activity in the countryside. And a Slytherin first year went to the Infirmary after being set upon by a group of third year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs who were upset about Hogsmeade being off limits-

-Occlumency is static, Legilimency is active. It relies on a drive to know, or overwhelm, or deceive. Once again, little chance to practice - there's no equivalent of Ashwinders here. I considered seeking out an isolated portrait, but I'm not sure if it carries over. Sticking to the theory and the advanced meditations for wandless, wordless use of the spell. It's hard to tell if "forging my wanting into a single point of white-hot demand" is working-

-not sure if I should prepare anything else to share with Riddle for tonight. I don't want to be too aggressive.


	16. Excerpts from Month 4, Days 1-15

_Excerpts from Month 4, Days 1-15_

He didn't turn up. Surely I would have felt it if something had happened to him. Maybe the Hogwarts wards have changed? Or somehow Legilimency practice interferes? That can't be it, or he would have intervened and met me early to stop me trying to learn. And I don't think I can even do it yet. I got a flash of _lying!_ from the second year I caught trying to sneak out of the dormitory after hours, but I think that was power of suggestion. She was _obviously_ lying.-

-nothing still. If he were Kissed by the Dementors, would I be dragged after him? Would Voldemort? Stop. That's hypothetical. But what else could he possibly be doing? He said he had a Horcrux in a vault somewhere. Could he be having meetings with someone else?-

-focusing on the Legilimency exercises. Tried them on an owl in the Owlry. _Maybe_ got something? I'm not sure what owls _do_ think about, and I couldn't muster a very urgent desire to find out. If raw wanting did it though, I'd get something back along my connection to Riddle about what happened to him.-

-can't tell if my frustration with Ron is a tenuous connection to Riddle or not. If he would be slightly less of a prat, it would be easier to tell. Lied to him that I've been spending less time with him and Harry because I feel uncomfortable around Lavender. Of course he found it plausible, since he's always desperately looking for evidence of his own merit. But really, if Harry is doing something secret, I should stay well away. He looks strained all the time now. And, watching them over my readings, it looks like Ron gives up easily now that he has someone else to run to, instead of even trying to pick up my role as researcher-

-taking Dreamless Sleep tonight to see if that forces the issue. And thought as hard and as loudly as I could about it all day-

-nothing last night, expectedly, but we'll see about tonight-

-still _nothing_. After a deliberate provocation, too. But Harry did say something about Riddle being a nasty piece of work when he was young several weeks ago. Maybe that's what he's doing with Dumbledore? Visiting Riddle in Azkaban, interrogating him? Trying to figure out a way to learn from him to beat Voldemort? If he were seeing Dementors that often, no wonder he looks so drawn and pale. But then am I going to be caught out for eliding what happened, what's been happening? It would explain why Dumbledore didn't kill him or have him Kissed while he was Stupefied, if he planned to make use of Riddle-

-the Death Eater attacks had been mostly slightly deniable till now, but the _Daily Prophet_ came out with an evening edition to tell us that Dolores Umbridge had been murdered at home. Not remotely subtle, either. They were prim about the details, but the reporter was positively smug about the "_truly gruesome details, which the _Prophet,_ in its wisdom, shall omit... indicative of a terribly depraved mind.._."-

-Oh _God_, was _that_ Legilimency? Harry came back and drew Ron and me aside in the common room to tell us Dumbledore had told him something secret about what happened to Umbridge. He said someone drew all the blood out of her, shrivelled her up, and sprayed it all about her house. (Presumably all those ghastly kitten plates she had are still frantically grooming themselves). But he looked like there was something else he wasn't saying, and I was _burning _to know what, especially after all that happened last year, and when he looked up, I got a flash of towering, blood-daubed letters spelling out "I MUST NOT TELL LIES." Harry started, and so did I, I'm afraid, but he didn't say anything else-

-it's been a _month_. Should I use the respite to really try again with Occlumency?


	17. Month 4, Day 16

_Month 4, Day 16_

Riddle is poisonous, pure and simple. It's like there's a filter up between him and the world that lets him only see anything in the ugliest possible light. Perhaps his bile and malice makes more sense in the world he feels like he lives in, but it's wretched to be around or to see myself in the funhouse mirror of his regard.

He turned up last night with barely a word of explanation about where he has been (slightly more likely that Dumbledore _has_ been escorting Harry to Azkaban to get to know his enemy). And he let me wake into Umbridge's sickly office. No sign of Umbridge, though he welcomed me with a poor imitation of her "hem hem!" Perhaps he finds her just as unbearable as I do and couldn't stand enduring that torture, even for the sake of putting me through it.

He wouldn't confirm that it was his other self that murdered Professor Umbridge, but it's awfully suspicious how hard he worked to divert me from that line of questioning. I had asked whether he thought that someone might use Voldemort's rise to take care of any murders they liked, expected them to be attributed to the Death Eaters, and he said it was possible, and if he was taking bets, he would have put his money on _me_ being the culprit.

He threw my use of the Cruciatus curse _under Imperius_ back in my face, and then said that _my_ first attempted murder at Hogwarts had outstripped his, since he had been in his sixth year when he killed Myrtle, but I had only been fifteen when I tried to kill Umbridge, but it wasn't so bad for a Gryffindor, even if it didn't take.

It was just _outrageous_ to speak to him at all. Whatever I said he turned about on me. He even quoted the book from Slytherin's library that he knew I'd read about how _Crucio_ was meant as a more humane torture, or, as he said, "more humane than being beaten or raped to death by centaurs."

And he wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. Or I would have been able to _finish_ saying that, at fifteen, I didn't have Harry's illusions about being able to save _everybody_. I was just taking the smallest possible action that kept all of us alive and untortured. I _couldn't_ beat everyone in the room at once with no wand, so I needed to isolate her by getting her out of the castle, and I needed _some_ weapon besides my words, which were just enough to start stripping away her advantages, not to neutralize her completely.

The whole idea of people having their character revealed in moments of profound stress is profoundly ridiculous. And, despite his snide accusations, I _was_ under stress in Umbridge's office. It was _not_ a cold-blooded act to lead her out. I mean, I thought of it quickly, and checked to make sure it was a plan with a chance of succeeding, but that is sort of the bare minimum for a plan to be worthy of the name. All schemes of Ron and Harry notwithstanding.

She was _fine_, just taken out of the action when I needed her to be. And she would have been absolutely safe if it weren't for her disgusting feelings about half-breeds. But Riddle threw that back in my face, too, asking if I were really claiming that I hadn't tried to murder her, but had just neglected to save her from killing herself. His awful eyes holding mine as he reeled off, "And if Moaning Myrtle hadn't been so stupid about her choice of toilet, she might not have died. And if only Cedric Diggory hadn't wanted to win the Triwizard cup, he might still be alive..."

But those were morally neutral acts. Umbridge wasn't felled by something innocent going through the wrong door. She _built_ enemies with her own hatefulness, her malice warping them, her violence (channelled through speech and Ministry power) inviting others to escalate in self defence. It's easy to imagine that she laid the groundwork for her own murder in the same relentless, self-righteous way as she did for her assault last year.

She's like Riddle. She sowed hated, fear, and resentment, and, unlike him, wasn't strong enough to channel it and make sure it didn't round on her. He makes me feel so much _worse_, just spending any time with all that cynicism and bitterness. My right hand felt cramped and achy this morning, still wounded from when he sent the Cruciatus through it to my wand. I'm _glad_ I broke my wand in the Room of Requirement with him. I wouldn't want to keep using a wand that he had perverted.

I'm glad he can't touch me here. Even a phantom touch makes my skin crawl all over. I must have spent nearly an hour in the showers this morning, scrubbing even my hair, which hasn't even got nerve cells to relay or remember the way he tucked it behind my ear when he told me he was sincerely pleased with my ruthlessness.

I can't wash my eyes, to get rid of the feeling of him _smiling_ at me. Sounding _proud _when I complained about Harry's inability to _think _if there was someone to save, and he replied, "It seems to me that, seeing as you apparently treat Mr. Potter as an object that moves along its trajectory without even a trace of choice, she was much the same, and you _chose_ to use that against her in precisely such a way as to result in serious injury."

I don't want to see him at the end of the month for tutoring in Legilimency. I don't want the feeling of him in my mind. I don't want him to keep drawing out what I did _well_ and twisting it into the kind of thing _he'd_ admire.

I don't want him to ruin any more Patronus memories.


	18. Month 4, Days 17-30

_Month 4, Days 17-30_

I don't want to practice Legilimency and strike people with the force of my will. I want to learn Occlumency. I want to be safe for Harry to be around. It's safe enough to see Ron, I suppose, since he doesn't know anything important, but I'm so lonely. I've been lying and hiding almost four months, and two to go-

-how much does a Legilimens need to know in order to read someone? Riddle didn't _understand_ the cholera pathology I showed him. If I did more maths than he did, could he draw meaning from a memory of a proof? Or just the emotional tone of the memory. Can I code [blot as though the quill lingered, and she thought better of continuing]-

-told Harry in a pretty much decent approximation of my usual cheerful bossiness that whatever Dumbledore was showing him was clearly exhausting him, and would it be possible for Ron and me to be tutored in Occlumency, so it would be safe to rely on his friends? He looked moved, and I gave him a tight hug. Still need to find a way to avoid being taught by Dumbledore, though-

-reviewing _Gödel Escher Bach_. Only two books left of the ones mum and dad sent. If we do get a private Occlumency tutor, I might get the chance to check this theory. The odds that it would be a Muggleborn are remote, and I'm cleverer than most, anyway-

-I didn't need to do _anything_ to get Ron and Harry to refuse to have Snape tutor us in Occlumency. To be honest, his malice is dangerous, but he seems to keep his own council. Dumbledore is more worrying. If he _tries_ to protect me from Riddle and leaves any gap in the defences- I _can't_ go back to Azkaban with him. But it was simple, by asking a few innocent questions, to get Ron terrified that Dumbledore might see him sleeping with Lavender. And then I was properly appalled and scandalized and unhelpful, until both boys _begged _me to refuse to have Dumbledore as the teacher, to help give Ron cover.

Naturally, I told the Headmaster _why_ I was refusing, and asked, since my memories were slightly compromising, that my tutor agree to be Obliviated, and wouldn't that be safer for all of us? Since Harry might let something slip and we'd be starting as beginners-

-unfortunately, the Occlumency instructor was startled at my skill in the first lesson. So the research for Harry _did_ pay off, I suppose. But Riddle's practically got a backdoor installed (margin note: good, keep trying analogies) and I need to be much better than this teacher may know how to test. Will increasing distractions/stressors in the room really be a good approximation of the particular kind of strength I need?—

-Two sessions of Occlumency, and now Legilimency class with Riddle tonight. It feels like third year, without the benefit of a Time Turner to manage my overloaded timetables. I hope he won't punish me too badly for learning.


	19. Month 5, Day 1

_Month 5, Day 1_

Sixty more days. Sixty more days. I kept saying that over and over again while I was dry heaving in the girls lavatory. He'll be dead in sixty more days. It's not surprising he's getting worse as time is running out.

He _has_ to be. Harry must be so strained because he's been going to see him, to learn more about Voldemort before Dumbledore decides how to have him act on the prophecy. And I must look as bad as he does this morning. He _has_ to still be in Azkaban.

And I can make it. It's only sixty days. If I had to, I could take Dreamless Sleep the whole time and not wear myself down too badly. And he said he wouldn't take me again for another month, so that would really only be thirty days of hiding, I'm safe for this month. It'll be _all right_.

Maybe I should go to Dumbledore. I don't know how I could explain-


	20. Month 5, Day 2

_Month 5, Day 2_

I kept finding excuses all day yesterday to not write down what happened - what he _said_, what I _saw_. I have to write it down. It doesn't make it true to write it down. But it's going to fade from memory (_I hope!_) and if I don't write it down, then I can't do anything to counter him.

Come on, _write!_ Just the facts. Fine, just the _setting_.

He didn't bring me to a torture chamber, just the Hospital Wing. And the False Memory Charm makes it hard to narrate what happened next. He lifted it, so the memories are jostled and blurred between what I _saw_ and what I now know is true. Or maybe what I _think_ is true. It could have been _two_ layers of spells. He wasn't necessarily _right_ when he said [crossed out heavily], he might have rigged it.

In any case, he didn't seem angry that I had gotten tutoring in Occlumency, but he said he wanted to see how I was doing, before I did the Legilimency lesson. So he asked me to shield a few thoughts (my knowledge that this was a dream, how I usually woke up) and he would try to read them.

I deliberately undershot my defences, so he wouldn't know how good I'd gotten. And even if he could tell I was cheating, it was still better than giving an accurate reading. But he cheated _better_ and never meant to cast _Legilimens_ at all. With my memories floating near the surface of my mind, it was easy for him to skim them off with a targeted _Obliviate_.

Muggles have a word for what we do to cover the gaps in our memory: confabulation. He hadn't done anything too elaborate, but by the time he was done, it didn't seem odd that I was standing over Professor Umbridge's unconscious body with him leaning lazily on the bars at the foot of the Hospital Wing bed. He told me that _she_ was my exam in Legilimency, and that I would have to retrieve several memories before he would tell me which one held the information I needed to get out of the room and away from him.

I knew and didn't-know that she was dead, but, at that moment, my biggest concern was that I hadn't _studied_ for his exam and that it wasn't _fair_. I wasn't allowed to practice on people. He must have tweaked my emotional responses so I wouldn't care, and I just focused on the exam, so I could muster the focus Legilimency requires.

The first memory I pulled from her was the first time she had bought one of those horrible, tacky kitten plates. And I managed to find it, pretty fast, or I thought I had. That accidental Legilimency I did on Harry had been my only experience. How was I supposed to tell if a memory was _off_ somehow? The emotional notes were what came across clearly, more than the details of the shop or the passersby. Umbridge's possessiveness and her flinch as another shopper mocked her for choosing it, and she hugged it tighter.

It wasn't more difficult to retrieve the memory than it was to catch a glimpse of Harry's, but it was harder to endure. I only got a flash of images from him, and here I was getting a much richer picture, and it clung to my mind like a film, taking a while to break, even after I surfaced. The second time Riddle made me plunge in, he had me watch her supervising Harry's detention, and her smugness and righteousness choked me. Every time Harry flinched, I could feel a sickly warmth spread through her. She was _happy_ to be hurting him, _happy_ to have the upper hand, _happy_ to have scarred one enemy and presumably cowed the rest.

[crossed out] No. I'll just run through what I happened, in the order I experienced it. I'm not going to think about _that_ until I have to.

Riddle said I should watch her teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, since a memory of a routine wasn't _actively_ defended, but could be harder to retrieve, since it hadn't impressed the subject very deeply. I was antsy and frustrated, so I cast it wordlessly, just to show off, and my feeling of barely suppressed anger focused to a point as I _willed_ her to show me the memory, and then diffused out but didn't fade, until it was clear it was just part of _her_ memory - a feeling of being stuck, of having been stuck with the worst work, however necessary, of being underappreciated.

I wanted to get her off of me as quickly as possible, so I almost obeyed immediately when Riddle told me that I had to watch her memory of the day we led her into the Forbidden Forest. I didn't want to him to lay into me again, and I didn't want to see what she had done to herself what _I_ had done to her. I can write it. I have to write it. It will help.

It _hurt_. I was helpless and humiliated. I was only able to hold onto her/my feelings of anger for a moment before that sense of something being _wrong_ drained from a fire to a queasy, awful feeling. I'm not sure if I managed to make it out of that memory myself or if Tom pulled me out. It took me a little while to come back to myself. It did take her several days, when it really happened, to be responsive at all.

Stop, that's not true. It took her several days to come back to the world, but she wasn't entirely unresponsive. Ginny and I _laughed_ when Ron made quiet "clip-clop" noises at her, and caused her to jolt upright in a panic. She hadn't made it out of hell yet, but we were capable of pushing her under and sinking her deeper.

Riddle had to place my wand back in my fingers, before I could do the last piece of Legilimency that he requested. He told me, and my addled brain believed, that Umbridge had been attacked, and I had to see the last thing she saw - the face of her would-be murderer. And I pushed my way into her brain, too tired to do it wordlessly, and saw my own face shaping the words "_Avada_-"

He was lying, of course. His every action had been a lie. Why should I believe he _stopped _lying once he lifted the memory charm on my and showed me what he'd done. Why should I _care_ what he said, once he showed me that he didn't _have_ any memories of Umbridge's, but he had mine, and had used _them_ as bait for me, with just a few, subtle adjustments.

I _can't_. I can't. I don't want to write down the hateful, spiteful things he said. I'm going to go down to the common room and sit with people and not be alone or worse, be not alone, with my memories of him.


	21. Month 5, Day 3

_Month 5, Day 3_

It's easier to transcribe what he said from the emotional remove of a Pensieved memory. He told me that he'd used _my_ memories, having had no access to Umbridge. _My_ first glimpse of Crookshanks slightly altered to be _her_ first kitten plate. _My_ pride in seeing what I'd done to Marietta transposed into _her_ glee at hurting Harry. _My _experience being tortured by him to simulate what _she_ got from the centaurs. And for her frustration while teaching, he said he was spoiled for choice from all my memories of being bored in class, or having Harry and Ron scoff at my reading, or pretty much _any_ memory from Muggle primary school.

I'll write down what he said next here. Maybe it can stay on the page and out of my head.

"_Surprising how much the two of you had in common. Oh come now, Miss Granger. Underappreciated sticklers for the rules, who fight to protect a figure with more authority and public prestige than them, even going to extreme measures - such as using the Cruciatus curse or risking centaur rape - to protect them? People who are more ruthless and should be in charge, even if the whims of fate have decreed they be subservient? People who aspire to reform the system they live in such that it will actually reward what ought to be rewarded? Please. What Umbridge was to Cornelius Fudge, you are to Mr. Potter."_

It's easier to describe from outside. I can watch a girl backed up across the Hospital Wing by a leering, dark-haired boy who won't shut up, until finally she slaps him square across the face, telling him to _Stop lying!_

He reaches up to his reddening cheek with a smile, and says "Forgive me, High Inquisitor. I must not tell lies" as those last five words redden and bleed on his hand. The girl's hand shakes. She casts a healing spell and speaks too quickly, trying to apologize, asking him to stop, calling him a liar.

He keeps boasting about his spellwork. That he doubled her, made her do Legilimency on herself, that if she really didn't resemble Umbridge, she should have noticed the difference, that she was only repulsed to see herself without the moral get-out-of-jail free card of assisting the Chosen One. While she raises her hands, to keep some kind of barrier between them, he keeps speaking:

"_It's what you will become if you keep making yourself second fiddle to Mr. Potter - simply the guardian who he will never notice, who exists to enforce rules she cannot justify, who hides her own malevolence behind the pretence to kindness and goodness. You did quite well hugging Mr. Potter in order to make him see things your way, Miss Granger. Add in a hem hem and it would've been a stellar performance."_

She doesn't win herself breathing room by pushing back, just starts crying, letting him keep speaking, allowing him to say, "I am trying to stop you from becoming that, Miss Granger. You can become Harry Potter's Dolores Umbridge, or you can be _my equal_. It really is as simple as that."

I don't feel any need to watch what happened next. After some more crying, Riddle said that I'd come looking for a weapon, asking to be taught Legilimency, and he was pleased to be able to give me the lesson and the appropriate consequences, according to my own judgement, for that sort of person. And then he threw me back into the memory of the centaurs before he let me wake.


	22. Month 5, Day 4

_Month 5, Day 4_

I didn't return the memory of my night with Riddle to my head after I'd watched it in the Pensieve. I have a vague sense of it, while it's outside my body, but I have to look back at this journal to remember the details, and I'd prefer not to for a little while. It's easier to plan and think with a little space.

There's a muggle condition called the Capgras delusion, where people keep insisting that their friends and family have been replaced by insidious duplicates. Psychiatrists think it might be because there are two parts to recognizing someone. First, there's just recognizing the face and linking it back to your concept of the person. This is the step where prosopagnosics fail; they don't find the face familiar. But people with Capgras _can_ do this; they have to know that there's a match to think there's an impostor.

But they only do part of the matching step. They never bring their limbic system, the bit that drives the emotional reaction, on line. So they have a totally abstract, numb sense of recognition. That's not how anyone _does_ feel when they see their wife, so they confabulate. If they don't feel anything, they assume it must not really be their wife; they couldn't possibly see their wife and not recognize her and feel _something_. They can become angry or violent, since people keep insisting that they accept this fake as a substitute for the person they love.

I think that's part of how Riddle cheated. He may have shown me my own memories (and I checked, those emotional notes _were_ there) but he showed me them in a way I couldn't recognize. He deceived me into thinking that they weren't mine. Perhaps the sense of partial recognition is what made me feel so sick. I both did and didn't recognize them, so I rejected them too strongly, just like a Capgras patient.

Those memories weren't as damning as he said, but he took advantage of me, to make me react and panic. I'm not like her. He sampled selectively and set me up. He had already done a memory charm. It's all corrupted data.

I've kept the memory of that last encounter in a little potions vial, and I glamoured it to look like a charm on a bracelet. Maybe I shouldn't reintegrate it. Maybe I should destroy it. It was a trick, and I could deny him the chance to have it work.

No. I might need it. I'll still see him at the end of the month. But it's just research material. There's no reason I should have to keep _his_ unpleasant thoughts in _my_ head.


	23. Excerpts from Month 5, Days 5-30

_Excerpts from Month 5, Days 5-30_

-if Riddle is trying to push me away from Harry, I'll spend more time with him and Ron instead. He _has_ been learning about Riddle's youth, though he wouldn't say how, and I didn't ask. I could feel the desire to _know_ bubbling up, but I squelched it before it could become involuntary Legilimency. Harry doesn't remark on my increased attentiveness; did he notice my absence?-

-struggled in Occlumency practice. Not in not being able to keep up the shield, but in persuading the instructor to ramp up the difficulty enough during the period to be of any use. I need it to hold against _Riddle_, not a 7th year Slytherin. The endless Obliviation of the teacher is good for operational security, but very bad for the continuity of lessons. I got him to send a message to himself through his memories so I can drop shields and _show_ him he should stop underpowering his spells-

-Rodolphus Lestrange was found dead last night. Perhaps he was repulsed during an attack? The Order hasn't taken credit, but it's all still delicate politically that Dumbledore is operating a paramilitary force outside the supervision of the Minister. But between this and Umbridge, people aren't quite sure who to be frightened of. Harry said, for all we know, it might be inter-Death Eater fighting, but then that raises the question of what Rodolphus _failed_ at-

-this is all just passing unpleasantness. In a month and a half, it will all be over. A brief, awful period of my life, but able to be isolated and ignored, the universe snapping back into place when it erases the Riddle who shouldn't have been. It'll all be as excisable as the memory on my wrist-

-doing genealogical research for Harry, who is still looking for a 'R.A.B.' Doing library research _ought_ to be calming, but I guess my nerves are used to examination by Basilisk by now, so cross-referencing is a little dull. And it's _good_ to be useful. Harry is still being closed lipped, and I _must_ stop being so curious, since I got another flash of memory from him. Just jagged scenes of dark waters and fire and _Dumbledore_ screaming? Could be Azkaban, I suppose-

-dropped shields for the Occlumency instructor, to show him my memory of him explaining to start at a higher level, well, I meant to, anyway. But, I don't know, I was foolish. He's the only person I can safely talk to, since he isn't permitted to remember anything that happens in our classroom, and the Obliviation is time-specific, so there's no danger of Dumbledore seeing. Anyway, I dropped shields and _threw_ some of my memories of my arguments with Tom, and _everything _to do with Marietta and Umbridge. Nothing from that last dream, since I've not taken it up again. The professor staggered, and I didn't quite know what to do. But I couldn't stop myself. I asked him, "Do you think I'm a good person? Is there something else you'd need to see?"

And he took a moment to collect himself, and then he _hugged_ me, tightly. And kept saying "there, there" and other useless things. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to cry or to shake him. And then, finally, he took me by the shoulders and looked me in the eye and said, "You're a very brave little girl, and you've been asked to do more than anyone could expect of you."

And my anger kind of focused to a white-hot point, and I _pushed_ and got a very clear sense that he hadn't _understood_ at all. He was a specialist in Occlumency and Legilimency, but didn't know enough about _Fidelius_ charm to understand how I'd warped it. He looked at Marietta through my eyes and saw a petty act of adolescent revenge, not a tactical choice. He gave too much credence to the tears I faked for Umbridge. He thought I was _frightened_ when I did those things. But, as I looked through his mind, to see what he really thought, his tenderness changed to nervousness and then to fear. I only just resisted saying, "Clear your mind, just _clear your mind_"-

-Harry and Ron both seem pleased with their Occlumency lessons. I suspect the instructor is babying Ron, since I still get flashes of _lying!_ from him, every time he claims to have 'really tried' with his Potions essay before looking to me for help, but Harry says he had a breakthrough in the last go-round, and hasn't been troubled with pains in his scar since.-

-a number of Muggles dead in the West End, and two wizarding casualties: Antonin Dolohov and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Presumably they were duelling, but it's all a bit odd. Were there other Death Eaters there? Because it would be strange for two Killing Curses to hit home at once, but Kingsley wasn't supposed to be on patrol there at all and should have sent a Patronus if he were outnumbered. I know there weren't any others of our side there, since I guessed in front of Harry, who may be better at Occlumency, but has a terrible poker face still. Curiouser and curiouser-

-perfectly normal Occlumency lesson. Thank heavens for Obliviation. And showing him just that one memory _did_ persuade him to stop treating me as a child. I suppose Harry must have worked out something similar. Or perhaps he only has to push up his hair to be taken seriously-

-Riddle again tonight. It's all right, it's only one month more. And I've put a number of barrier charms and alarms about my bed in care he tries to take me over as a way of escaping.


	24. Month 6, Day 1

_Month 6, Day 1_

I would have guessed that he would get nastier as he got closer to his death, but he was- I suppose the word is _generous_ last night. He met me on the Quidditch pitch, but I couldn't spot him at first, because he was flying. Not on a broom, but the way that present day Voldemort does, flashing by unsupported, just as _Quidditch through the Ages_ says you _can't_.

I'd been worried, when I woke up on the pitch, he was going to humiliate me somehow with my hatred of brooms, but he told me that he was going to teach me the charm he developed, because he wanted to show it to someone. I didn't think that he'd known it at a seventh year, and he told me that he had heard that his older self _could_ and he'd been puzzling it out in Azkaban. I'm glad he's had puzzles there. I know the Dementors bother him less than others, but I'm glad he has something to hold on to, since it would be awful for someone like him to be penned up even in a normal prison.

He said that my Legilimency practice would be helpful, since the spell required focused intent. I couldn't help it, after last time, I was suspicious, and I asked him point blank whether unassisted flying required some kind of horrible sacrifice or unpleasantness, and he said no. He said he "simply wanted to share an experiment with someone capable of appreciating it. It's something I never got to do at Hogwarts."

And I suppose I got a sense of what he would have been like, if Dumbledore had ever let him teach Defence Against the Dark arts. He was much better than most of our other professors. He didn't just show me the spell; he made me puzzle it out socratically. First, he showed me the step where people usually get stuck and stop thinking: he cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on his own feet, and floated up for a little while, before overbalancing, and dangling upside down from his bobbing feet. Then he told me to diagnose the problem and _fix_ it.

We don't know how to make a whole body float. We can just tug it upwards using the charm. We use brooms because they're _relatively_ easy to balance on (of all the objects that wizards understand exist. Sirius's bike is obviously a lot better). So I asked if he had determined his centre of mass and cast _Wingardium _exactly there.

Not correct, but creative enough to be given another question: "What magical creatures can fly that ought not to be able to?" He shot down ghosts as too incorporeal to be relevant, and I bit back 'lethifolds' when I remembered they _don't_ fly, they just move so smoothly as to appear to, and then I offered 'Dementors.' This was the right answer, and he asked me to speculate about _how_ something that was "as aerodynamic as a bloody hat-stand" could pull it off.

My best guess was pretty obviously wrong, because I didn't see any way for humans to make use of it. I guessed that the Dementors were a bit like the Veil in the Department of Mysteries - more boundaries between this world and void than actual creatures, so gravity, being part of _this_ world has only a tenuous hold on them.

It turned out I was close though. Riddle said that the Dementors _were _creatures, but their nature was pure trauma and wretchedness, and the physical world itself tried to reject them. I was suspicious that his solution _did_ involve dark magic after all, or depended somehow on his Horcruxes, but it turned out he had a much simpler solution.

Instead of focusing and intensifying malice, as the Dementors do, to be pushed _farther_ from the surface of the earth, he was simply using a repulsion charm to do the same thing. First he _leviosa'd_ again, and then he cast one repulsion charm specifically on his hands, so he'd stay upright, and then cast another on his body, and renewed or deliberately weakened it to rise and fall; just like a balloonist opening up the gas or dropping sandbags to change his altitude.

Then, he asked me to try. And it was clear that it _was_ a fiddly business, and it took a great deal of magical control and focus for him to be able to do it smoothly and wandlessly, and even more for his counterpart to be able to _duel_ while adjusting his force of will.

Legilimency practice _helps_, but I kept overshooting or aggressively course correcting. But after I had a minimum level of competency, he told me to follow him, and we wheeled out over to the Forbidden Forest and-

Drat, the bell for first classes. I'll fill in the rest later.


	25. Month 6, Day 2

_Month 6, Day 2_

Once I was proficient _enough_, Riddle led me out over the grounds and towards the sea. My stomach sank a little, when Hogwarts vanished over the horizon, though, of course, its wards have never been relevant while I've met with him in dreams. We travelled south, until Riddle alit on a beach below some particularly forbidding cliffs.

I asked if we were somewhere real or imagined, and he told me it was a real place, and that I oughtn't show my Occlumency instructor, "Not that you probably respect him enough to trust him with your - our - secrets at this point, anyway." I didn't want to be reminded of the awful encounter I'd had at the lesson before last, and, since the instructor is always Obliviated, Riddle is the only one besides me who _could_ remember. But, instead of pushing, he sprang lightly up, drifting along the cliff face, and giving me a moment to collect myself before I followed.

Riddle led me into a cave, that didn't look like it had any trail leading to it at all. You would have needed a lot of muggle equipment, or the ability to fly, to reach it. Off of my puzzled expression, Riddle explained, "I brought you here because I wanted you to know a secret of mine. Not one simply dealing with how to do magic, but a real secret. I am your Horcrux, after all. It struck me as necessary that you see at least one of mine."

He brought out his wand again, and cut his own hand, to be able to open a charm in the rock. I didn't know what to say, and he didn't seem as customarily smug at my lack of composure. I hesitated, and then said, "Is there something you want me to do after- after you're gone? I'm sorry, I _can't_ do what I did again. You're too dangerous."

The rocks parted behind him, revealing a larger chamber, as he said softly, "No. It's just that I have all your memories and secrets, and can peer into your mind whenever I like. It strikes me that you should see something equally private, and also that, in case you ever missed having an equal, and didn't care so much about the danger, you would know where you might go."

The cavern was densely dark, like being wrapped up in thick velvet. My _Lumos_ seemed swaddled up as well. Riddle had been here before, he left me to walk to one seemingly featureless part of the beach (about 10-o-clock from where we entered, and seven paces in, as far as I could tell), reached into the sand, and began hauling a boat out of the black water. Or maybe pulling it _into_ existence, I didn't get the chance to examine the spellwork.

In the centre of the dark lake was an island that was the only other source of light in the cave. There were flickers of greenish light, and Riddle steered us by this bearing. Leaning out over the side of the boat, I could see something in the water. So I made sure not to lean out quite so far, and to steady my grip on the boat, before I brought my wand closer to look.

Just below the depth of our keel, the water was thick with bodies. I couldn't estimate the depth of the lake, as I could not see how deeply the bodies were stacked, but I could see at least three people deep before the water was too turbid to look further. I swallowed, and settled carefully back into the middle of the boat, and saw that Riddle was watching me carefully.

"Inferi?" I said, though it wasn't really a question. He nodded curtly, and then added, "Not my handiwork, I assure you. That is a trick just garish enough for my older self."

The boat moved smoothly on, but my stomach was queasy. "Riddle? How do you know how your older self set up these defences? I thought you only know what you knew and what you picked up from me. And this hasn't been in the _Prophet_..."

He told me that he was speculating, because he expected his older self would have added _something_ and he wanted me to be prepared, if I ever chose to visit. The bloodspell, he told me, was his own. And I shouldn't be concerned that I'd need to find his other self and wound him, he chuckled. Any blood would do; he just wanted to be sure that no one would enter here accidentally.

We had reached the shore of the island, and he assisted me out of the boat and led me to the basin I had seen glowing across the water. In the depths, I could see a golden locket, inlaid with a glittering snake. I was sure that Riddle, past or present, would not have kept a Horcrux under _water_, so I was careful not to touch the surface of the potion.

I looked up at him, the dancing light casting odd shadows on his face, and said, "I _am_ sorry, about the Vow. I just-"

But he cut me off and said, "Think nothing of it, Miss Granger. Were I in your position, I would have wanted my captor and torturer to be a casualty of war in the moment as well. Not your fault that you behaved as any sensible combatant would."

And then he stepped beyond the basin, and told me he would like to show me the cave properly. It wouldn't do me any good for apparition, he said, since the place was warded against it, but he'd like me to be able to have a full memory of it to return to, if I didn't come myself. And he sent a rope of fire spinning out over the water.

The heavy darkness didn't lift, but the light _deepened_ the shadows somehow. They flickered and sharpened and _reached_. The cavern seemed to be an enormous geode, but of obsidian instead of crystal. Before the flames died and the darkness evened out again, Riddle said "Until our last meeting, Miss Granger" and I slipped into ordinary blackness and then into daylight.


	26. Month 6, Days 3-29

_Excerpts from Month 6, Days 3-29_

It _is_ interesting that no one asks too many questions about the Dementors, since it was by thinking about them that Riddle figured out flight. People don't like to think about them at all, and it ends up being easy to assume they can do anything just because they're awful. That's how people talk about present day-Voldemort flying. No one gets curious because it's as though once you break moral rules, it's assumed you can break physical and magical ones.

And, of course, that means no one bothers to check whether they're bending the rules using Dark Arts or just _cleverness_. Every one of us had _seen_ that Voldemort could communicate instantly with his followers, without the fuss of two-way mirrors, but I was the only one who tried to reverse engineer it. And then everyone got skittish, as though he'd _tainted_ applications of the Protean charm.

But in this case, I don't think it's just a question of Riddle not being scared off. Most wizards _don't_ think about stacking spells. He'd be horrified to see me writing this, but it seems like a particularly muggleborn thing to do - to think of spells as tools that might be repurposed, instead of trying to invent something totally new or just treating the whole system as fiat-

-Ron and Lavender are through, and now he's suddenly very hurt about being excluded from Harry's secret meetings with Dumbledore, though of course, he doesn't keep up his Occlumency. I get a regrettably strong sense of frustrated lust every time I make eye contact with him, unless I'm particularly _suppressing_ the talent-

-Harry sat me down last night to ask if I saw Riddle touch _anything_ while we were in the Room of Requirement together, and specifically, if he might have smuggled anything out on his person. I couldn't guarantee that he hadn't, I spent too much of the time with my eyes screwed up being tortured, but Harry thanked me anyway, and then vanished for the whole night.

The next day at breakfast, I didn't press him, but I pushed just a little with Legilimency, and got a sense of exhaustion, success, and delicate silver filigree. And Dumbledore didn't come to breakfast at all and looked like his burnt hand was giving him more than the usual trouble at dinner. Not sure what that means, but I can wait three weeks to ask-

-When Riddle is gone, I suppose I can give up the Occlumency, though it might _actually _be a good idea to keep them up for the sake of the war. I'm a bit better at keeping it up while doing something else, instead of just in response to assault, but it's an odd, dulled sensation-

-given that I have no reason to believe that Harry or the Order plans to confront Voldemort imminently, I think I don't have to show them _how_ he flies immediately. I'd like to have it as a simple, private secret for a little while longer. I've been working on just staying one centimetre above the ground while I'm reading, since it's unobtrusive and a good drill for control while multitasking.

As for the location of the Horcrux, probably I _should_ tell that one soon. But surely it would be safer for me to wait till the end of the month, and who knows what else Riddle might tell if I keep this secret for now?-

-two days left, feeling faintly ill. Could he be affecting me over the connection? There's no reason for him to conserve his strength anymore.


	27. Month 6, Day 30

_Month 6, Day 30_

I went back to the Room of Requirement tonight. I _can't_ see him this last time. I've been feeling sicker and sicker all week, so who knows what he could do to me with clearer access. Or whether there's any way his dying while we're closely connected could pull me after. Or whether he'd just plunge me into the company of Dementors for as long as he could for spite. He was nice last time, but he's mercurial.

It still felt _wrong_ to just take Dreamless Sleep, though. I can't leave him alone to die, even if I'm, well, leaving him alone to die. Besides, he did once threaten to punch through it. So instead, I'm here drinking Pepper-Up Potion instead, so I _can't_ fall asleep. And, just in case, I'm practicing my flying a few inches above a basin of ice water that the room provided when I required it. So if I start getting dozy, I should have a nice sharp shock when my concentration goes and before I'm actually in any danger.

Well, I suppose he wasn't going to have even these six months otherwise, so it's not like he's gotten the worst of the deal. He even got to work out some new magic, catching up to his older self with that flying trick. It's just time to pay the piper. And it's a compliment he'd appreciate that I'd much rather he were dead than his counterpart.

I wonder what he would have done tonight. I never got up the courage to ask him to leave behind his memories of the Basilisk, so she'll be gone tonight, too. Maybe he wouldn't have done anything awful. Or even if he had, if he had anything as important as Slytherin's library to still pass on, it might be worth the danger. But if there's any chance he might be able to jump ship, or possess me like his other self did Quirrell, I don't see how I can risk it.

What did he mean, showing me that other Horcrux? I'll have to tell Harry about it sooner rather than later. He can't possibly have so much contempt for his older self that he'd want to help us kill him, not that the Vow is irrelevant. And as for bringing him back again…

Drat, I fell in. Still, at least the failsafe is working. More Pepper-Up Potion anyway. At least no one will catch me with smoking ears in here. But anyway, even if it were somehow conceivably safe, and I _were_ to bring back the fragment of him that's in the locket, it wouldn't be the Riddle _I_ know, anyway. It would be an older memory, which would probably kill me on sight, just to get the practice in. No matter what I do in the future, the Riddle that I've been meeting won't exist anymore. So it was just a trap he was laying for me, not an actual chance for him to live or me to not kill him. Spiteful, that's what it was.

I wonder how late in the night it was before he was certain I wasn't coming. It's nearly midnight now. I'd feel better if I were abandoning him after the second to most recent dream, rather than the one where he gave me flying lessons. Maybe now's the time to reintegrate the memory; why should he be able to mess me about just because he wasn't cruel _once_.

No. I can't imagine that would help. And I'm safe here. I don't have to send him off spitefully.

I'd like to be able to see him, but I suppose that would be unfair. I wouldn't like to have someone watching, aloof, if I had to die. Better to not make contact at all than to cheat him in that way.

I never explained the Vow. I wonder what Harry and Dumbledore will make of it, when he's gone. Maybe assume his hold on life and me was unstable. I wonder how they'll tell me, or if they'll tell me. If he winks out, instead of leaving a corpse, they probably would try to protect me from thinking he escaped, like Harry with Sirius-

Oh, it's midnight.

He's gone.

He must be. On that last chime, I felt the knotted feeling of anger and contempt and distrust kind of melt away. The mark _he_ left on me. I feel _light_. Was I carrying something that awful this whole time? It's almost enough to make me come over shudders just thinking about that awful cancer of a connection growing and poisoning me and feeling natural. Dropping it is almost enough to feel giddy - the way your arms drift up when you've been pressing them against a doorframe and then finally step through.

It's all very nice, but I'd rather _not_ feel giddy tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. But, especially now that he's gone, I'd like to be sad. I don't know if that's allowed, since I wanted him to die, and I made him do it, but just for tonight, I'd like to be sad. And then I'll be free tomorrow.


	28. Excerpts

_Excerpts_

-walked down and was finally able to greet Ron and Harry openly and happily. It's all over now-

-sat down with Dumbledore to say that I thought I'd worked out how Voldemort was flying, and that the Order might be able to use the tactic, or try to disrupt his flight, since it takes _focus_. Felt a flicker of guilt, but Dumbledore thought it was just for releasing Tom in the first place, not for spoiling his present. And it _can't_ be right to think of it as a betrayal at all. I'm being _good_ so it's ridiculous to feel guilty about doing the _right_ thing. The sooner I can shake that reluctance, the sooner all his hooks will be out of me-

-finally safe to ask Harry about what he's been doing, and to mollify Ron that yes, we're all in this together. Couldn't quite contain my curiosity, and got a flash of a Tom I didn't quite recognize at first. Is _that_ what he looked like, near the end, at Azkaban? I suppose the Dementors aged even him, and he just kept up appearances when we met-

-went flying over the lake just at dusk. It's how I feel all the time now that I don't have to worry about being plucked from my bed at night, now that his cynicism isn't seeping over. I wonder if working out how to do this made _him_ feel joyful, that last month in Azkaban.-

-gave Harry and Ron their timetables for exams. Not as grateful as they might have been-

-_Ha!_ R.A.B. might be Regulus Arcturus Black. Perhaps Harry will tell me _why_ once I tell him I've found a likely candidate. It's nice getting to be of use, without worrying that anything I find out will be relayed back. Perhaps that's what Tom meant to interfere with, when he tried to compare me to Umbridge. Trying to scare me off helping Harry, because he knows I'm good at it. (Ron gave up helping with research three weeks ago)-

-it is tedious waiting for magical fires to burn long enough to create an Ashwinder, since I don't want it to sneak out without my noticing, or, worse, ignite the Room of Requirement. But it's good to keep practicing a language, or you'll lose it. I'm glad my facility didn't go when Tom did, though I stumbled a bit when the Ashwinder asked _why_ I was waiting for it, and almost went for the old, practiced greeting-

-told Harry about R.A.B. but he still wouldn't tell me what he needed it for. And, I- got impatient and was overtired from revising, and accidentally _pushed_. And I'm sure it was _Harry's_ memory of the cave Tom showed me, not mine, that appeared. After all, the Inferi never stirred when _we_ were there. So I suppose I don't have to tell Dumbledore about _that_.

All the same, it is a bit sad to know that that part of him has already been destroyed. I know it would have had to have been done sooner or later, but it is a bit of a wrench to know that someone is _already_ dead, and you've thought of them for nothing. Like putting your foot down on the top step of a stair that isn't there-

-done revising for Ancient Runes, or, at least everything but the last two weeks to come. On track with my timetables, and everything feels a bit easier now that I shan't have a Basilisk as a proctor-

-actually, it's rather _lucky_ that Tom managed to guess it would be Inferi, which Harry's memory confirmed. (I had one other look at it, while he was unfocused and tired over his Potions notes). I know Tom grew up to be Voldemort, but that's no reason to think he could anticipate himself that well. He mentioned visiting other Horcruxes, maybe he has one at Hogwarts? And managed to eavesdrop on Harry and Dumbledore somehow? I should try to work that out-

-last night would have been a meeting night, if he had stuck to his routine, and I still felt a little frightened going to bed, though of course nothing happened-

-added to the list, I _don't_ think Tom could have found out Voldemort flew from the Prophet. I've been looking at the back issues. And it was still mentioned as impossible in our edition of _Quidditch through the Ages_, so Voldemort wasn't known to do it in the last War. And I'd never _seen_ it, so it would be hard to find in my memories, even if you were looking for everything relevant. So he must have a Horcrux that can spy on the Order. Unless he used one to communicate with Voldemort directly?-

-right, just exams now, and then I can use a Pensieve after to go over anything he might have learned from me and conveyed to Voldemort. I want it clear in my head before I bother Dumbledore and I don't want to mess with my memories till _after_ I do my essays. I can add that last extraneous memory back then, too-


	29. Month 9, Day 1

_Month 9, Day 1_

I had to look back at a calendar to figure out what to date this, I got lazy over the past few months, since it's hardly been an Occlumency journal for a time, but today in the _Prophet_-

I'll just paste it in, no reason I should have to rewrite it, though I suppose transcription might be calming.

_**MINISTRY CONFIRMS: DARK LORD FOUND DEAD**_

_**Wizard World Rejoices**_

_Today, Ministry officials confirmed that a corpse recently found and placed under top secret examination at St Mungo's is, in fact, the corpse of none other than Lord Voldemort, the infamous mass murderer and terrorist responsible for the death of thousands since his initial rise to power. _

_Voldemort, known mostly by wizards as You-know-who or He-who-must-not-be-named, was discovered dead late Sunday morning. He appears to have been a victim of the Killing Curse. Ministry officials were unwilling to specify a time of death, but said the body showed signs of decay indicating that Voldemort had been dead for several months._

_Ministry officials also refused to speculate as to who was responsible for Voldemort's death, though one highly placed source in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement did state that despite the state of decay in which Voldemort's body had been found, it had been freshly scarred with the symbol known as the Dark Mark, suggesting that one of his followers had been responsible for the death. Other sources, however, have suggested that the secretive Order of the Phoenix might have acted in concert with Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived, to stage the attack._

_Extensive magical procedures were performed to determine the veracity of Voldemort's corpse, according to ministry sources familiar with the procedure. "There is absolutely no doubt as to the identity of the corpse," one source told the Prophet. "Albus Dumbledore himself performed the most difficult tests on the body and has assured us that there is no enchantment that could pass his inspection."_

_Dumbledore himself was unable to comment due to ill health. However, Potions instructor Severus Snape told the Prophet that the Headmaster would be celebrating with students as soon as his health permitted._

_Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour is expected to address the wizarding world publicly later today on the death of Voldemort. Sources in Scrimgeour's office confirmed to the office that Scrimgeour would call for a national celebration, but also caution that Voldemort's followers have yet to be captured. _

_Yet despite the death of Voldemort, the Ministry remains less than confident in its ability to permanently stamp out remnants of his following in the short term. Other sources have speculated that Azkaban may also be unsafe for those followers, given last year's mass-breakout. _

_Celebrations are expected to last well into the night tonight. Wizarding authorities are primed for showers of shooting stars._

Ron and Harry are outside, calling for me to come out and go to Hogsmeade. Harry admitted he didn't know what happened and I _pushed_, I had to, but he wasn't lying. It _could_ be some kind of internal struggle, I suppose, but I don't think-

The door is opening, Lavender is letting them in, I'll think of something once I can get alone again.

* * *

_"Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me."_

-Ghost, _Hamlet_


End file.
